


Guard Over My Rest

by wyntirrose



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we need someone to watch our back when the nightly demons come out to play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guard Over My Rest

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This was originally inspired by the prompt “Bluestreak/Hound: Dance with your demons” over on TF_Rare_Pairing over on LiveJournal.

Night time in the Ark was always quiet. There was a time when they kept to Cybertronian hours and habits, mounting 36-hour long shifts and 24/7 crew rotations. It quickly became apparent that they no longer had the mechs to run such a schedule and it was no longer needed now that the war was slowing down. Even the Decepticons seemed to have taken on a more organic schedule and most of their attacks occurred in the middle of the day when there were more humans to get in the way of the inevitable combat.

Hound walked through the deserted halls, periodically waving up at Red Alert’s cameras, knowing full well that the Security Director was locked in his office observing everything. It had been a long day of patrol and with Mirage off on a mission and Trailbreaker spending much needed alone time with Silverbolt, Hound found that he was too wired to sleep and didn’t much feel like spending the night alone.

Eventually his wanderings took him to the rec room where he found a lone occupant changing the channels so rapidly that there was no way for Hound to tell what was on, even at the highest setting of his visual processors.

“Blue? Taking cues from Blurr?” he asked of the grey mech on the couch.

Bluestreak was over the couch in an instant, gun in hand and optics scanning the room for an enemy that wasn’t there. Hound knew the look well. He had seen it far too often on Mirage when a nightmare woke him from a sound recharge.

The tracker stepped back and raised his hands in surrender.

“Blue, it's me. Hound. You're in the Ark, remember?” he said softly, doing his best to imitate that soothing tone he'd heard Smokescreen use when trying to talk a mech down. “Blue, it's okay. You're safe. There are no enemies here. Just friends.”

Bluestreak's optics slowly darkened to a more normal shade as they cycled rapidly in a series of blinks. He finally seemed to see Hound and reeled back in shock.

“Primus! Hound, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-”

The tracker stepped forward into the room fully. “It's okay, Blue. Really, it's all good.”

“But I could have shot you!” Bluestreak’s tone was one of barely contained hysteria as he backed away from the other Autobot.

Hound had seen the look before on petrorabbits caught in the lights of a hunting skip and felt a swell of sympathy for the young gunner.

“But you didn’t Blue. That’s the only thing that matters,” he said gently. “Just relax and come back on the couch. I can’t recharge either. Maybe we can find something to watch.”

Hound carefully and deliberately sat on the couch. When Bluestreak didn’t respond, the scout reached out his hand to the younger mech. “Come on Blue, it’s gonna be fine. I promise. Trust me.”

Bluestreak looked at Hound for a long time before finally, slowly moving over to the couch and sitting down again. As soon as he did Hound took his hand and squeezed it gently.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. “Sometimes it helps.”

Bluestreak looked down at the blue fingers held by grey and for a moment it was as if he was staring at hands he didn’t know.

“Blue?” Hound prompted softly.

The gunner shook his head and turned back to the television. He never said a word but he also never let go of Hound’s hand.

Hound pursed his lips at the response. This wasn’t in any way normal for the usually talkative gunner but Hound had no idea how to help. If he pushed then Bluestreak would close up. At least he knew that that’s how he would have reacted had it not been for Trailbreaker and Mirage.

Then it struck him, Bluestreak really didn’t have any one to talk to. It had taken years for Mirage to open up, and even now Hound didn’t know all of the dark corners of his mate’s spark, but at least they both knew they could talk to each other whenever they needed to. Maybe it was time to give a little to get something back. Making a decision, he squeezed Bluestreak’s hand gently.

“I know what it’s like when you can’t recharge, when it feels like if you offline your optics you’re going to get drowned in memories you don’t want to think about,” he said softly. 

Bluestreak’s hand spasmed slightly but he kept his optics glued to the television.

“And I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Hound continued gently, “but you know you don’t have to shoulder all this on your own, right? We’re all here and you can talk to us.”

The young gunner looked down at their entwined hands in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft Hound barely heard him.

“I tried talking and that doesn’t make it go away. All it does is leave me open and vulnerable.”

Hound nearly felt his spark break at the words. Sadly, Bluestreak’s doors didn’t allow the tracker to pull him close in a hug without leaning on the delicate appendages, so he did the next best thing. He reached out and gently turned the gunner’s head to look at him.

“Blue, I promise you, you can talk to me and I swear I will never use any of it against you, or laugh at you. I admit, I never experienced the level of loss you did, but I can still sympathize. And I can empathize … and all those other words that Smokescreen throws around in therapy,” Hound added in a murmur, suddenly feeling like he was way over his head.

Bluestreak looked away as best as he could without pulling his head away from the tracker.

“I can’t,” Bluestreak whispered.

Hound sighed softly and let go of the Datsun’s chin, but remained close.

“It’s easy to believe that no one understands, isn’t it?” Hound asked in a gentle voice. “I know that I never went through what you did so I won’t insult you by claiming that I understand. I mean, I can’t, right?”

Bluestreak turned back and looked at the tracker, confusion written all over his face, and beneath that, an obvious desire to run being held firmly in check.

“But I do know what it’s like to live with the nightmares,” Hound continued. “I know what it’s like when you can’t recharge because if you offline your optics the things in the dark will come and get you. I can’t tell you how many times I ended up in Trailbreaker’s berth because I couldn’t sleep alone in mine.”

The young gunner nodded slowly. “I guess it’s better when the Twins are here and I can go recharge with them. But they’re in New York…” Bluestreak trailed off with a shrug.

Hound reached out and brushed the back of the Datsun’s helm with gentle fingers.

“How long have you been up, Blue?

Again the gunner responded with a wordless shrug as he seemed to close in on himself.

“That long, hunh?”

With that, Hound made a decision. He stood and grabbed Bluestreak’s hand, tugging the young mech off the couch and against his side in one fluid motion.

“Come on. Neither of us can recharge alone and we clearly need it. Raj is off on a mission so we can have the berth all to ourselves.”

Bluestreak had been relaxing into Hound until the berth and Mirage were mentioned. Suddenly the grey mech pulled away, panic written in every move.

“No! No, I’m fine! I can sleep just fine on my own, thanks! I’ll just go back to my own room now and I won’t be in the way. I mean, I know you mean well and all, but Mirage wouldn’t like it and then he’d get mad and he’s Special Ops! I don’t want to do anything that would get him-”

Hound couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t have laughed but the sight of Bluestreak – a mech who routinely took on Gestalts without flinching – backing away from him like he was a plague-carrier was just far too funny to Hound’s far too exhausted processor.

“Blue! I just suggested we get some recharge. I do like you and will happily admit you’re terribly cute, but I don’t want to interface with you.”

Bluestreak stopped cold, nearly tripping over a chair as he was backing away.

“What?” he asked, optics cycling in a rapid blink.

Hound smiled and offered his hand to the clearly gun-shy gunner. “I’m not propositioning you, Blue. I’m just suggesting that we might do better sharing a berth, and since mine’s designed for two I figured it’s the best choice.”

“Really?” Bluestreak asked. “I mean the Twins usually try to exhaust me into sleep.”

“Really,” Hound replied. “I like you a lot but I’m not the Twins. So what do you say? I figure we can keep each other safe from our demons without trying to ‘face each other into the berth.

Bluestreak stayed still for a while longer before finally nodding and coming back to stand beside Hound. The tracker immediately pulled the grey mech against his side in an amicable, one armed hug.

“Come on. We’ll get some recharge, and if that doesn’t work then maybe we can just talk or I can read you a story. I’ve started this interesting one by a human named Jack London.”

“That sounds nice,” Bluestreak replied softly as they headed back toward the residential hall.

\---

Mirage slipped into his and Hound’s quarters and took in the sight before him. Hound sat on the berth, his back propped against the wall, reading a data pad. Bluestreak lay across him, arms wrapped loosely around Hound’s waist, his head resting against the tracker’s chest. Periodically Hound’s free hand would come up and stroke the back of the gunner’s helm. Fighting at the smile that was pulling at his lips, he leaned back against the door frame.

“Okay, this should be interesting. Explain,” he whispered in the sternest voice he could muster.

Hound looked up at Mirage and smiled, not buying the jealous act for a moment.

“Blue’s been having nightmares. I’m not sure he even knows when he last recharged properly.”

Mirage’s look softened with deep felt empathy.

“I figured that having a warm body or two with him would help to keep the demons at bay. Poor thing fell into recharge almost as soon as I started reading to him,” Hound continued, running his fingers along the edge of Bluestreak’s chevron.

The young gunner moaned softly and his optics flickered slowly online. As his head came up he smiled sleepily at Hound before he saw Mirage and his optics widened. Shock, fear, and something else that was completely undefinable passed over Bluestreak’s face before he struggled to extricate himself from Hound’s arms.

The tracker’s arms tightened slightly, preventing Bluestreak from escaping completely.

“I’m sorry,” the gunner said rapidly, clearly looking for a way past the spy and out of the room. “We weren’t doing anything! I wasn’t doing anything!”

“I know that,” Mirage replied, a tad more sharply than he intended. “Now go back into recharge and stop fretting.”

“I can go back to my room,” Bluestreak said, optics still darting nervously.

Mirage sighed softly, ignoring the amused look Hound was trying to hide. Gently, he pushed Bluestreak back onto the berth.

“There’s more than enough room for three. Go back to resting and don’t make me make it an order,” the spy said firmly as he settled onto the berth.

“You’re not in my chain of command,” Bluestreak replied, “and I really shouldn’t be here.”

“First, you’re welcome to stay here. If you weren’t we wouldn’t have extended the offer in the first place. Second, I would rather not have to force this issue, but I will if I have to. I’ve learned to trust Hound, and if he thinks that you shouldn’t be alone tonight then you shouldn’t,” Mirage replied, sandwiching the young gunner between him and Hound, careful not to pin the broad doors. “Now get some recharge and we’ll make sure to keep the nightmares away.”

Bluestreak looked about to protest again before giving up, allowing himself to be pulled into Hound’s embrace. In bare moments his optics flickered and dimmed and his engine fell into the slow and steady rhythm of a deep recharge.

“Poor thing’s so broken,” Hound murmured brushing Bluestreak’s cheek gently.

“So are we all,” Mirage replied back carefully, leaning up to kiss his mate tenderly. “Just some of us are better at hiding the cracks than others.”


End file.
